


The Unexpurgated Version

by Lookfar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-22
Updated: 2011-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-14 23:18:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lookfar/pseuds/Lookfar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter is surprised to find that Severus Snape has survived the Death Eaters - and in a most unlikely location.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unexpurgated Version

**Author's Note:**

  * For [schemingreader](https://archiveofourown.org/users/schemingreader/gifts).



Disclaimer: The world of HP and its characters belongs to Rowling. Nothing here is for personal profit.  
Author Notes: Many thanks to my intelligent and perspicacious beta, Atdelphi, who improves my work in every way.

 

Harry put the grocery bag on the counter and lifted out the milk. Before he unpacked the rest, they'd have tea. The squat brown pot waited on the counter next to the stove; he tried to leave things where Severus could get at them easily. The ice cream - he took out the tomatoes and onions and found it underneath – Rocky Road, Severus' favorite, although the nuts gave him trouble with his teeth. He placed it on the top shelf of the freezer.

He turned on the gas burner and filled the kettle. As the years passed, Harry found it comforting to do things Mugglewise. It reminded him of his childhood, although why that appealed to him, he didn't know. It was like pressing a bruise and feeling the pain, then pressing it again. Perhaps just to know that they remained – those small moments, like cooking bacon for Dudley and his Aunt Petunia or straightening out the blankets on his mattress beneath the stairs – they remained, and so did he.

The tea, PG Tips, and that ridiculous crocheted cosy he'd gotten from Molly the last Christmas she could do needlework. While it steeped, he put away the onions, the eggs and the kippers. They really should eat better. It was all probably nutritious enough, but unthrilling.

He’d come in the back door, but he knew Severus would be napping in the front room.  Yes, there he was, a shawl on his legs.  Ridiculous man, he could never admit that he needed to nap, preferring to be taken by sleep in the afternoon, his glasses dislocated on his drooping head and the corner of the book digging into his cheek.  Harry stood for a moment watching him.  He wore his hair long again, but it was more white than black.  The hands that rested on the book were spotted with age.  Harry sat on the foot stool, next to the long, skinny feet in their threadbare socks.

“Hello love,” he murmured, gently clasping the area above Severus’ knee.  

“I’m resting.”

“I know, but if you sleep all afternoon, you won’t do at night.  I’ve made some tea.  Open your eyes, darling.”

He never got tired of it, really: dear, darling, sweetie.  How funny it had been that he could not heave those endearments into his mouth for any of the girls who clustered around him at the end of the war, not even for Ginny.  But for Severus, they flowed like water.

~oo00oo~

Harry stood on the corner with James Sirius, who was vaguely scowling to show that he didn’t really need to be with a parent.  Ginny was still in the gift shop buying Mickey sweatshirts.  He was surprised, sometimes, by her interest in Muggle things; she treated them as if they were part of the family’s ethnic heritage.  Well, she was Arthur’s daughter, after all.  He, personally, had found the Magic Kingdom rather tedious; nothing could be as magical as real magic had been to him at age eleven.  James and Albus loved the place despite their teenaged sophistication, in part because Ginny had presented this, their American Muggle tour, as a kind of exotic foreign vacation.  They were forever remarking excitedly on how Muggles did dishes by hand or the strange, dead quality of Muggle photos.

A man with a child on each hand caught his eye and smiled in sympathy, flashing a pair of deep dimples and beautiful eyes.  As he passed, Harry’s own eyes dropped for a moment to the man’s bum.  He turned back to the store with James.

“Let’s see if we can get your mum out of there, hm?”

“I’d like an ice, Dad.  Can we get one?”

“We’ll see what the others want to do and then we’ll decide.  It’s a good idea.  It’s blasted hot.”

At that moment, Ginny appeared in the doorway, a large bag in her hand and a radiant Lily carrying a stuffed animal beside her.  Albus followed behind, looking, as always, a bit befuddled.

“Mission accomplished,” she said.  Even in the awful heat, she looked wonderful, her red-gold hair tossed about her neck and Lily leaning affectionately against her.

 

“Look, I think we’ve done enough for now,” he said.  “I’m melting, James wants an ice cream, and it’s the hottest part of the day.  Let’s go back to the hotel and let them swim in the pool.  I could do with a nap.”

“I think you’re right,” she replied.  “We can come back in a few hours.  Whew, this American heat!  Is it really as different to English weather as I think?”

As they walked back to the bus stop, the children lagged behind, making _sotto voce_ sarcastic comments about their parents.  Harry didn’t mind; all teenagers did, and if it served their closeness, he was glad to make the sacrifice.

“We’re going to have to decide about that other park tonight,” he said.  “If we’re going, it has to be tomorrow.”  There was another place nearby that they hadn’t heard about in their rush to arrange the trip, something about magic and wizards.  Maybe another magic kingdom.  It might be a hoot, more of that Sorcerer’s Apprentice Mickey stuff.  Even Ginny had laughed mockingly at that, and Lily had giggled, “It’s like the wand is an electric torch!”

Muggle fantasies of wizards made Harry’s head spin.  The others laughed at the hilarious inaccuracies but he could remember holding them himself, reading a contraband copy of _The Lives of Christopher Chant_ by the light coming under the cupboard door.  

Back at the hotel, the air conditioning was bliss.  Say what you like, that was one thing the Muggles did well.  He threw himself on the bed and held the deliciously soft pillow over his eyes.

“Lily, get the Hell out of there, would you?”  James’s deep voice was followed by rhythmic thumping on the bathroom door.

“I’m changing, or would you rather I do it out there?” was her muffled reply.

“Nothing to see, my girl, nothing to see.”  

In fact, James was being untruthful; Lily, at thirteen, was showing signs of becoming a lovely woman like her mother.  Harry was silently amused by the tone of lordly condescension that James had adopted lately, so at odds with his gawky, elbow-flailing movements and the scattering of acne on his cheeks.

“Okay, okay, don’t get your knickers in a twist.”  Her voice changed as she came into the room, and that was the last thing he heard.

When he woke, the room was quiet but for the whooshing of air from the overhead vent, and the light was different; they must have let him sleep for a long time.  He wondered if they had actually gone back to the park without him. No, they wouldn’t have done. He felt groggy and a little sick and realized unhappily that he was about to have one of his episodes of anomie.

Anomie was the name Ginny had given to these spells. She didn’t have any such feelings herself, being always unified, optimistic and fully present.  The first time, it had frightened them both.  They had only been married six months and suddenly the whole world he had achieved was drained of life and meaning.  It was if he could see it but through a thick pane of glass.  Ginny’s kind questions only served to confirm that she was on one side of the glass and he on the other.  Eventually he had seen a Healer, who diagnosed depression - no surprise, given his childhood trauma and abusive upbringing, she said - and after talking to her for six more months, he felt the feeling lift and with a psychic sigh of relief, rejoined the world.

That was only the first occurrence, but he never really thought of it as a disease with a repeating course; like a clever enemy, it made itself different every time, keeping him off balance.  Ginny reminded him that it always passed. Beneath her warm reassurance, though, he heard the faint whisper of fear for her family, so he hid it from her, and if she suspected, she hid that from him.

Recently, these spells made him feel like an actor in a play, and they were actors, too, but only he knew it. He loved his family, of course he did; one couldn’t help it.  He had even loved Dudley and Petunia at one time, in a way.  He had an excellent career, and the fact that by using only his own innate talents he had failed to be exceptional at it was a comfort.  He still had the friendships of his youth, and most of his hair.  And yet, and yet -

There was something wrong with the way he fit into it.  It wasn’t him, or he wasn’t it.  It seemed as if everyone in the play but him was fully engaged, especially Ginny. He accused himself of holding back.  

He held the pillow more tightly over his eyes and groaned softly.  They’d be back from the pool soon and he’d have to make the effort at cheer.

Voices in the hall announced their imminent arrival.  The automatic lock was painfully loud and he heard Albus and James jostling to be first.

“Shhh, I think Dad’s still sleeping,” said Lily.  The smell of chlorine.  He hid out for another moment.

Ginny’s hand on his forearm.

“Hey, we’re back.  You should wake up now.”  She stroked his arm gently.  “Are you rested?”  

He pulled the pillow down.

“I’m rested and ready,” he said, smiling.

In the evening, they returned to some of the rides they had liked best.  Albus did not like to be frightened and stubbornly refused to be goaded into Space Mountain again.  Lily, making a play for his affections against James, convinced him to go on the Winnie the Pooh balloon ride with her, “for old times’ sake.”  Ginny liked the roller coaster with the Abominable Snowman on it.  Harry was a good sport; he appreciated how their enthusiasm carried him along and helped him forget himself.

They had dinner at a fancy restaurant where the meal was interrupted by fireworks.  Everyone rose from the tables at once to stand on the balcony and watch Cinderella’s castle lit by blooms of colored light.

“I think I’d like to go to that wizarding park tomorrow,” he told Ginny, who grinned in blue, pink, white as the display reached its peak.  

“What?”

“I’d like to go to the wizarding park, the Wonderful World of Wizards or whatever it’s called,” he repeated.  “But I can go alone and meet you back here if you’d rather.  Why don’t I go in the morning and we’ll meet up at lunch?”

“I think the kids haven’t finished up here,” she said.  “We have to make another trip to the water park.  Maybe that’s a good idea, and we can meet back at the hotel and go out together in the afternoon.  Anyway, perhaps you’d like a break from our darlings.”

He wanted a break from everything, and he appreciated her saying it.

~oo00oo~

It turned out that the wizarding park was inside another park that was about Muggle films. It didn't help Harry's state of mind to have to battle his way from the taxi through an “island port” and a turnstile to where it actually began. When he got in this mood,  it was hard for him to focus; he didn't read the signs, but followed the crowd, intending to correct his course when he was closer.  Then, coming around a corner, he spotted the castle towers against the sky.

He had not been back to his old school in many years; the closest he'd come was Platform 9 ¾.   After the war it had seemed too sad. Hogwarts without Lupin, without Dumbledore, even without Snape prowling the corridors and sneering, would seem like some horrible simulacrum.  It was better to leave it for the new students who would not miss what they hadn’t known, and move on, himself, into adulthood.

But the peaked turrets in the distance above the food stands and souvenir shops reminded him keenly. He wondered if the attraction had actually been designed by a wizard, someone who had seen Hogwarts, one of those who choose to disappear into the Muggle world, eschewing their magic in favor of anonymity and mediocrity.

Carried along in the stream of people, he followed a boulevard and found himself before the castle gates.  They, too, reminded him of school, but whereas those gates had been stained by fog in winter or streaked with green algae in summer, swirling with mist or toasting in the tentative warmth of a Highland spring, these were brilliantly lit by the Florida sun and, upon close inspection, made of plastic shaped to look like planks.  

Passing through the gates, Harry tucked his shirt into his shorts, then pulled it out and tugged it down.  It was hot as blazes, but he felt under-dressed in the wide stone corridors.  At least he was wearing trainers and not flip-flops, like half the men forming the line with their families.  Again, that creepy sense of familiarity and alienation came over him.  He considered whether he was about to have a migraine; his forehead felt tight and the light hurt his eyes.  The line moved forward and into view of some sort of office, or perhaps junk shop, so packed it was with gadgets and gewgaws.  He guessed the effect was supposed to be mysterious, but it reminded him of a chain restaurant they had eaten in, hung with old street signs, bicycles and deer heads.  These people seemed to think that wizards couldn’t tidy up or throw anything away or else that they had completely failed to notice the twentieth century; was that an orrery on the table?

Here was a wizard!  It was a tall, bearded chap, some kind of ghostly technology, giving a speech about the castle, but the robes were all wrong. They were made of some thick velvety stuff, like a Halloween costume, not the light, smooth wool he knew, and the fake wizard wore a little round cap like a wheel of brie.  He had never in his life seen a wizard wear a silly hat like that; it was no better than the pointy cone of Mickey the Sorcerer’s Apprentice.

The Muggles around him gasped and laughed appreciatively at everything they saw.  Harry wished it were either more or less like the wizarding world.  No, less.  It was creepy this way, like a stranger who appears to be an old friend until you call out and he turns toward you.

As they shuffled past the junk room, Harry began automatically to greet the portrait on his right, then faltered; she was just a moving picture like the television at their hotel, her eyes glazed and dead. The effect was rather horrible, and for a moment he thought he might need to turn and get back outside.

And in the next moment his eyes found and locked on the startled black gaze of Severus Snape.

In the deafening silence surrounding their paralysis, Snape’s pencil rolled from his clipboard and struck the artificial stone of the hall with a series of four diminishing taps.  Harry had the panicky thought that if he could just move, just walk on, he could undo the last several seconds, fail to notice Snape and continue with his innocent diversion.  Then a long, spidery arm, extruded from a Hawaiian shirt, shot out and grasped him by the shoulder and he was being dragged down a side corridor.

A hidden door opened at a touch - the Room of Requirement? - and he found himself in a large Mugglish office under a skylight, decorated with architectural drawings, good modern carpets and dirty coffee mugs.  “Sam Sinkworth/Chief/Design and Operations” said the plate on the desk.

Snape did not look good. His face was very red, except for the area around his nostrils, which had turned greenish white.  His eyes were bloodshot and he clutched the clipboard tightly as if preparing to bash Harry on the head with it. If he hadn’t been sure about the man’s identity moments before, this instant rage made him certain.  He still felt as if he were going to have a migraine.

“What the HELL -” Snape began -

“You -YOU!”  began Harry, but Snape out-shouted him.

“What the _Hell_ would provoke you to visit a wizarding theme park? Is there any place on earth that could possibly be a more asinine choice of entertainment for a real wizard?”

“I thought it might be funny,” he answered.  “I don’t _know!_  I was curious.”

Harry heard the hysterical edge in his own voice and tried to calm himself.  Every time he looked away and back, seeing Snape gave him a shock.  It couldn’t be true.

“Perverse, self-centered, thoughtless and idiotic - “ Snape ranted, “is there no place on earth to get away from you?  I place myself in the one spot I can be sure that you will not appear, and, like a bad shilling, you turn up.”

“Hey hold it,” Harry said.  “This has nothing to do with you.  As far as I was concerned, you were dead.  I saw you die.  So listen, if we’re going to talk about being self-centered, how about someone who lets people think he’s dead, and grieve for him and suffer about it because he _can’t be arsed_ to drop them an Owl saying, ‘Oh, by the way, I’m not dead.’  Huh?  How about that?”  

At the word _arsed_ , Snape stepped forward in a fury.

“It was none of your business -  You hadn’t the right!  You - You don’t own me - “ Snape loomed over him now and a speck of spittle flew from his mouth onto Harry’s glasses.

Harry thought for a moment that Snape would strike him.  Yet he came no closer, like a cat bristling and hissing from a distance - and suddenly the pressure in Harry’s forehead melted and he began to laugh.

It started as a chuckle, but as the absurdity of the situation grew he began to “ha-ha-ha” explosively, falling about and slapping his thigh.   He couldn’t believe he’d gone to some fake wizarding castle and run into the living Snape who was now yelling and intimidating him just like when he was eleven years old.  

“You -” he laughed, eyes blurred with tears “you’re just the - ha ha ha - just the same.  You haven’t changed.”  

Snape looked at him with loathing.

“Indeed, I have not.  I am the same slimy bastard that I always was and I hope to continue my life in that vein without benefit of your opinion.”

“But how did - ha ha - how did you survive?  I saw you die.”  He felt rather good.  Rounds of giggles kept welling up.   He wiped his cheeks with the backs of his hands.

“Surely you remember the phrase ‘stopper death,’ even though you heard it through a haze of heroic hormones?  I’d be a sorry excuse for a dark wizard if I were to be killed by a snakebite, or discovered to have survived.”

“Sorry.”  Harry settled himself on the edge of the desk and wiped his eyes again.  “About the discovering.  And what - what are you doing here?”

“Living a private life,” Snape said icily.  “And if you will go out that door and forget that we met, I will attempt to resume it.”

“Oh, I’m afraid not,” Harry said. That swelling, giddy joy had returned.  He wanted to kiss someone.  Maybe Snape.  And the more Snape loomed, glowered and bristled, the more confident he felt; he was a man now, and Snape was just a man.  He could look him in the eye.

“I named my youngest son after you,” he said fondly.

“If you think we are going to discuss what you learned about me at my death, let me assure you that we are not.  In fact, I’d like my memories back as soon as possible.  What - you named - ?”  

“Albus Severus. The ‘Severus’ after the bravest man I’ve ever known.  I take it you don’t get the wizarding papers here?  You’re quite the hero now.  After the war, it was something of a sensation.”

“Of course I get the wizarding papers.  I don’t however, breathlessly follow the Harry Potter news, as you seem to expect every person to do.”

“No, no,” Harry said placatingly.  He gazed at Snape.  His hair was cropped short now, grey at the temples, and he wore khaki pants and the palm tree shirt, but the face was unmistakable, with its deep lines of disdain around the mouth and the great beak of a nose.  “I can’t believe it’s you, that you’re alive.”

“If you could possibly avoid announcing your discovery to the world, I would consider all debts canceled,” Snape said.

“Of course,” Harry said.  “I’ll keep it a secret.”  

They regarded each other in silence for a moment.

“Quite the grown-up fellow, now, aren’t you?” Snape said in a nasty tone.  “Equanimity achieved, all passions spent?”  

Harry had seen Albus do this to James at times - goad him from a standing start because of some just-remembered resentment or simple boredom.  He nodded with what he hoped was a self-deprecating expression

“I don’t really understand this park,” he said, “or why you’re working here.  Although - “ he gestured to the office, with its expensive furniture and huge computer monitors- “you’re clearly important.”

“You thoughtless git,” Snape muttered, pushing Harry back out the door.  “Is it possible that you did not read the signs?”

“I had a migraine,”  Harry said.  “I was keeping the sun out of my eyes.”

Through a long, back, rubber-smelling corridor they walked, down a flight of metal stairs and up to a landing, where a door with a push bar opened into a parking lot.  Harry squinted against the glare.  Snape pulled him out to a space between the cars, fingers biting into Harry’s upper arm.

“Turn around and read the sign,” Snape said.

There, over the distant gate to the park, was a gigantic, brilliantly lit sign that read “The Wizarding World of Harry Potter.”

He read it, then read it again.  It did say “Harry Potter.”

“It says Harry Potter,” he said.

“That is correct,” Snape replied.

“The same Harry Potter?  Myself?”

“Correct.”

“Oh, God,” said Harry, and sat down on the hot tarmac. Snape continued to stand over him, looking abstractedly toward the sign.  Harry put his head in his hands.  After a while, Snape moved so that his shadow blocked the sun on Harry’s head.  The pleasant sense of self-possession had fled and he felt sick.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God.  How did this happen?  Snape, did you do this to me?”

“Please. I think I have made it quite clear that I have no more interest in you than in an insect or an unpleasant rash.  I have been too busy to form plots against anyone.”

“But you’re here.  How else did they get my name?  You must have given it to them.”

“Quite the opposite; I have attempted to protect you _once more_ , as much as possible.”

“But - then how?”

“Has it occurred to think of your other enemies?  Perhaps one of your deceased enemies?”

“Voldemort did this to me?”

“The Gift That Keeps on Giving, yes.  The name of the curse is _Rem Privatae Edantur_.  Your life has been, most literally, an open book.  A series of books, to be precise.”

“This theme park is based on some books?  What books, why haven’t I seen them?”

“In the first place, you have not seen them through my persistent efforts to make them invisible to the wizarding world, and let me tell you, the counter-curses involved would cross the eyes of a man like you.  God knows, they’ve been as common as dirt everywhere else and there was a time when you couldn’t look into a Muggle child’s book bag without finding one. However, this theme park is based on the moving pictures.”

Harry returned his head to his hands.

“There are movies.  You really mean that there are movies about me?  This is terrible.  Everything?  Everything I’ve ever done?  You know, once when Hermione was angry at Ron, and I was horny - God, we knew it was meaningless and stupid, we were so ashamed right after - “

“I am relieved to tell you that these are children’s books.  Your irresponsibly indulged lusts do not grace their pages.”

“It’s like _The Truman Show_.”

“You do attend the Muggle films, then.”

“Ginny’s been interested in Muggle culture. Oh, God.”

“Do not distress yourself unduly.  You remain under cover, as it were.”  Snape unclipped the pad from his board and handed Harry a printed brochure from beneath it.  

There again was the disturbing legend “The Wizarding World of Harry Potter,” with a picture of a skinny, black-haired teenager straddling - straddling! - a broomstick beneath it.  The lightning-bolt scar was clearly visible.  Harry touched his own scar, then raked his hand through his silky, dirty blonde hair.

“Is that supposed to be me?”  

“It is supposed to be as far from you as I could manage.”  

Harry’s breathing gradually slowed.  He decided to get off the ground, and reached for a hand.  Snape pulled him up then dropped Harry’s wrist with a frown.

“You’ve been - You’re keeping it away from me?  Or keeping the real me out of it?”

“To the best of my considerable abilities,” Snape said grimly.  “But please do not take the tack that I have martyred myself on your behalf.  I am extremely well paid and my life here in the tropics is pleasant and untroubled.  Or was.”

“Of course.”  For some reason, Harry found this endearing.

“Sna - Prof - “ Harry laughed nervously.  “Professor Snape - thank you.  I’m - I’m still having trouble believing this, but I do believe _you_.  It’s terrible.  I’m sorry you’ve had to be - involved with me, protecting me - again.  I mean, you didn’t _have_ to; I didn’t mean to say that.  I appreciate your doing it.  I don’t know _why_ you are doing it -”

“Bad habit.”

“I’ll probably never have another chance to say this,” Harry said.  Snape stepped back and looked away, frowning still more.

“I know what you did for me, for all of us.  I named Albus after you because I couldn’t tell you that I understood, that I was grateful.  And - I am.  I am so grateful for what you did for me.”  Harry spoke from the heart, the way he had learned to speak to his children.  It could be very simple if that’s all you wanted.  

To his surprise, Snape looked uncomfortable.  Not uncomfortably furious, but socially uncomfortable, as if he didn’t know what to say.  Before the opportunity passed, he put on his most pleasant expression - and he knew he had a pleasant face, perhaps a bit soft, but with a full mouth and big, thickly-lashed brown eyes - and asked: “Would you let me take you out for a drink? Or, I know it’s early for drinks, but for lunch?  I mean, to say, ‘Oh, thanks for saving my life over and over and now my dignity, and in return may I buy you a hamburger?’”

“All right,” said Snape sourly, “but not at that cheap, ersatz Hogsmeade.”

That is how Harry found himself sitting in a booth in a nice Thai restaurant drinking a cold Singha and eating Pad Thai with his old nemesis while discovering the several ways Snape had managed to divert and confound a comprehensive and powerful curse.

“So, you put us all in jeans and tee shirts, even in Hogwarts?”

“I couldn’t make that work right away,” Snape said.  “Only in the second film.  It’s a sort of disguise, I suppose.  Not as good as I’d planned.”

“The Quidditch, though, really!” said Harry.  “How could you expect anyone to believe that young men would be willing to crush their balls against a broomstick?”  He was feeling the beer, rather.

“It’s _magic_ ,” said Snape with a wide-eyed, oh-my-gosh expression that looked quite funny on him.  “It can do anything.”  He, too, was on his second Singha.  

Harry burst out laughing.

Snape narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Oh, come on, you meant that to be funny, didn’t you?”

“All right,” Snape said grudgingly.

“I can call you Severus, can’t I?”

“If you must.”

“Do you think you could call me Harry?”

“No.”  For some reason this made Harry laugh as well, although Snape probably didn’t mean it humorously.

“I really am -” Harry said, “I really am delighted to see you.  I’m so glad, I’m -”  For a moment his eyes stung with tears, which he hid by blowing his nose on his napkin.

Snape looked annoyed.

“I still can’t - I can’t believe you survived.  We felt terrible about it, you know.”

“Unlike you, I am well-accustomed to my survival. I am sure that given time you will recover from the shock,” Snape said.

“But where have you been? Where did you hide?” Harry asked.

“I didn’t _hide,_ ” Snape said angrily, “and I would rather not give you an account of the last twenty years.  Suffice it to say that I landed on my feet and have, until now, been content to leave the past in the past.”

“No, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean it that way. Anyway, Quidditch is more like Muggle polo, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I suppose it is, with hippogriffs.”

But finally the plates had been cleared, the bottles emptied, and Harry began to worry that this was the end.  How to secure another meeting was his main concern; he couldn’t just see Snape resurrected for one afternoon and never again. And that feeling - the feeling of being equals, of having something to offer and expecting something back - he wanted more of it.

“I do want to give you - to give you what you - what you gave me.  They’re yours,” he said.  “I could bring them to you next time I’m here.  I’ll be back in Orlando in a month.”  This was a spontaneous lie but he was sure he could manage it.  

Snape’s mouth tightened and he looked down at the table.

“Really,” Harry said.  “You have the right to them.”

More silence.  Harry felt his way through a difficult moment.

“I’m glad you loved my mother,” he said softly, almost touching Snape’s hand, but not quite.  Snape nodded briskly and reached into his pocket.

“Here’s my card,” he said.  “If you find yourself in the area, ring me up.”

Snape walked him back to where he could get a taxi.  They stood for a moment, Snape’s bitter black eyes appraising him.  I have so much to say to you, Harry thought.

“I’ll see you again, yeah?”  Harry said.

“I suppose,” Snape answered, and turned away.

In the back of the taxi, he studied the brochure.  Funny, the Snape character looked just like Snape - although although no one who hadn't seen him with long, greasy hair and flaring black robes would recognize him in Sam Sinkworth. The others, however were all different, cartoonish.  Hagrid was shown big and hairy, not the muscular, graceful, handsome giant Harry knew, while Dumbledore with the wheel of brie on his head and very much in need of a barber, was completely different to his Dumbledore of the well-trimmed goatee and stylish, expensive, rather gay robes.  As for Ron – well, Snape had always despised Ron.

He left the brochure in the back seat.

The afternoon passed easily. Harry felt like someone with a secret fortune, and it made him generous. Ginny gave him an affectionate squeeze outside the Japanese pavilion while the children went in for sushi. It meant, _I saw that you were unwell and I'm glad you are well now._ He squeezed her back. He would tell her about Snape after the next time, when he had more to tell. She'd probably understand why he'd kept it secret.

The next day they apparated home, and Harry went back to work and planned his return to Florida.

It was almost all he could think of for several weeks.  He didn’t like to lie to Ginny, but he did; the Ministry was sending him to do some inspections of Ministry property in the States, which would take at least four days.  Ginny was busy with her work as well, and didn’t question his plans.

And then he was standing in the safe apparation point in Orlando, in the storage room of a wizarding shop.  He fingered Snape’s business card in his pocket, although he need not have brought it along; he’d memorized all the information.  He had the cell phone they had used here before, he had brought the cord for giving it electricity in his overnight bag and he had a wallet full of Muggle money.  He’d get a hotel room, then call Snape and try to set something up.

Outside the theme parks, it was just a midsized, average American city.  Spanish moss hung from the trees and swans paddled in the municipal pond.  He found a chain hotel and checked in, always reminding himself to act Muggle.  In the room, he set the phone on the desk and the card next to it.  His heart pounded.  He tried to calm himself by thinking about how ordinary it was to be in a different city and call up an old friend.  People did it all the time; he did it.

But not an old friend who had been dead and restored to him.  Not one he could retrieve from the great catalog of his losses, who had haunted his childhood and travelled the ground from enemy to hero in his mind.  Not one who made him feel wonderfully alive and real.  He dialed the phone.

 _You have reached Sam Sinkworth, COO of Design and Operations, Universal Studios Orlando.  I am unavailable to speak with you now.  State your concern at the tone and I will contact you when convenient._ Convenient for yourself, of course, Harry thought.

“Uh, it’s Harry. Potter.  I’m here in Orlando, I just got in this afternoon and I wondered if you could join me for that drink. I hope so.”  There was a long pause while he sorted through the things he wanted to say, but none of them seem appropriate for an answering machine. He hung up.  

He lay on the bed for a few minutes, then decided that this was making him feel more anxious, so he got up, put the phone in his pocket, and went out for a walk.

Trying to tire himself into a calmer state of mind, he went fast as possible down the long avenue, past palm trees and office buildings, restaurants and businesses. When the avenue ended in a warehouse district and an hour had passed, he came back and let himself into the room. There was an angry owl outside the window, standing on the air conditioning unit.

“Sorry,” he called.  “It doesn’t open. Hold on.”  Outside in the courtyard, it grasped his arm a bit more tightly than necessary while he removed the small scroll and apologized for having no treats.  With a look of disgust, it flew off.

Idiot, when using a cell phone leave a return number, said the message.  Meet me at 1700 Palmetto Street, 7:00.  SS

Harry did a little jiggle on the balls of his feet, like a child with tickets to the circus.  It even felt good to be called “idiot.”

1700 Palmetto turned out to be a small restaurant - indeed, a very nice small restaurant.  Could this possibly be a special occasion?

The maitre d’ greeted him by name, if somewhat quizzically, and led him to a table - white cloth, small candle, discreet corner - and there was Snape, reading a newspaper folded into quarters.  A big grin crept across Harry’s face.

“Your friend, Mr. Sinkworth,” said the maitre d’, and Snape looked up.

His face was unreadable in the candle light. Harry stood foolishly gazing until Snape gestured him to sit.  

“Your trip has been satisfactory?”  Snape said guardedly.

“Oh, uh, yes.”  He hadn’t thought of needing to shop his cover story to Snape as well.   “Just business for the Ministry.”  Snape nodded, uninterested.

“Here are your memories.”   Harry dug in his jacket pocket for the small bottle and placed it on the table.  Snape nodded again, but left the bottle sitting there.  “I - this is sort of embarrassing.  You know a lot about me.  I mean, you’ve known me since I was eleven, and apparently everyone knows a lot about me, and - and I’m pretty much used to being mortified, what with Rita Skeeter and _The Daily Prophet_ and being The One Who Lived and all that shit.  But I’m the only one who knows some things about you. I guess you’d rather your - your privacy were intact.”

During this long speech, Snape regarded him impassively, then sighed.

“It can’t be helped,” he said.

“I just want you to know that I respect you all the more.”

“Please, Potter, if you intend to turn this into a Mutual Admiration Society, I’ll have to call a halt right now.  It can’t be helped, so I prefer not to think of it.”

“But -” Harry said daringly, “you did want me know.  Once.”

“More fool I.  I wasn’t one hundred percent sure the antidote would work.  And there was so much blood.  I wasn’t - “ He looked troubled. “It hadn’t been tried.  Only a fool would have taken it for granted.”

This was not an answer, but it seemed wise not to press it.  

“My younger son, Albus Severus - I’d like to tell you about him.”

“Oho, only the _younger_ son, it is?  You saved my name for the spare, is that it?”  

Harry flushed.

“Well, it - you know, because my dad died when I was a baby - It’s traditional - ”  He frowned at the tablecloth.  Damned Snape!  Only he could turn an honor into an insult.  A little sound caught his ear and he looked up.  

Snape was laughing.  Very quietly, with his hand over his mouth, black eyes squeezed into crescents of mirth, his whole face bisected by a wide grin.  It was weirdly beautiful. Harry wanted to see it again.

“You are an idiot,” Snape chuckled.

“I know,” said Harry. “Gullible.”

“All right, tell me about Severus Albus.”

So that was what they talked about.  Snape was also interested in Lily, but not James and Ginny. They didn’t talk about the past. They didn’t talk about Snape’s inner life, or Harry’s, for that matter, but the conversation flowed easily.  Snape spoke about his professional life in Florida - apparently, it was easy to create a Muggle  identity, educational credentials and even a bit of a history, if you knew the right spells - but whether he had a private life worth mentioning, Harry couldn’t tell.

“Do you miss it?  The wizarding world, being with people who do magic openly?” Harry asked.

“Not at all.  The wizarding world was not kind to me, as you unfortunately discovered.  The “Wizarding World” has been better.  I have a great deal of creative autonomy and I’m handsomely paid.”

“Oh,” Harry said sadly.  “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”  Snape gestured for the check and took out his wallet.  “I’ll get this.”

“So, uh, do you live near the park?”  Harry wanted to know as much as he could, to be able to imagine Snape when he went home, if possible to create a parallel imaginary world in which Snape went about his life as Harry did his.

“God, no. I live across the street.”  He indicated the front of the restaurant.

Harry peered through the plate glass of the restaurant.  “Across the street” appeared to be a posh doorman building of modern provenance.  Now he understood; Snape ate here all the time.

He almost asked to meet once more before he left, but - not good to be too eager, or to crowd a man so private and reluctant.

Outside the restaurant, Harry shook Snape’s hand.  

“I’ll probably be back here before long,” he said.  Was there a flicker of disbelief in Snape’s eye?  He himself found it implausible that the Ministry would have this much business in Orlando, Florida.

“Good evening to you, then,” Snape said, whirled with a familiar motion that only lacked a set of black robes, and walked away.

He passed the intervening three days seeing the attractions in Orlando.  Sea World was especially nice, although he seemed to be the only family-free man on the premises.  He visited the Orlando Tourist Bureau and brought some brochures back to his room, looking, not at the attractions, but at the city of Orlando where it appeared in the background of the photos.  He imagined Snape’s life here, the ordinary things he did.  Did he ever go to a bar or a movie?  Did he have friends; did he make himself known to the small enclave of wizards?  Harry did not go to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter; the whole idea made him queasy.

Back at home, he found he could not tell Ginny, not yet.  He wanted to have this secret, to keep it to himself, for just a while longer.  Since, in fact, his life until age eighteen had been made public, wasn’t he entitled to some privacy now?  Sometimes she looked at him with a little concern; he wasn’t a particularly good liar, preferring to elide, and he thought she might be wondering what was behind his quiet happiness.

And then it was late autumn and then Christmas.  Harry gave some thought to a small gift for Snape.  Nothing too expensive or personal, nothing that required acknowledgement.  He considered and discarded a hundred ideas: Hawaiian shirt, too personal; wallet, too bland; anything sentimental, too, well, sentimental.  In the end he tracked down the out-of-print _Headmasters of Hogwarts_ because it had plates of both Snape and Dumbledore.  He sent it by Muggle post, which took him several days to achieve.

In January, he received by Owl post at the Ministry a snow globe with Sorcerer’s Apprentice Mickey inside.  A small, folded note was tucked in the box: “What we know about the wizarding world.  - SS”  He told Ginny he would be in Scotland for half a week and packed a bag with wool robes and socks.  Under his traveling clothes he wore a tee shirt and shorts.  This time, he sent a note ahead, and received one in return: _Since you seem to have an unsatisfied craving for my company, allow me to provide you with dinner Wednesday night.  Nothing fancy; please do not get your hopes up.  1699 Palmetto. - SS_

Harry was glad he had seen the building; otherwise, he might have appeared in those same shorts and tee shirt.  As it was, he made an effort and wore a nice Muggle button-down he’d bought that morning and chinos.  He shaved, too.

Snape opened the door right away, wearing a white chef’s apron and holding a corkscrew.

“Good sign,” Harry said, nodding at the corkscrew.

“Hello, Potter,” Snape said. “Do come in.”

The apartment was large.  Everything in it, from the stark, modern furniture to the plush carpets, was grey, black or white.  The living room had a wall of bookcases and a wall of windows, a black coffee table and a single stone sculpture on a pedestal.  Down below he could see the restaurant across the street and tiny people walking.  And despite the “nothing fancy,” he smelled something like lamb chops and whipped potatoes with leeks.

“This is a great place,” Harry said.  “It suits you.”

“Thank you.  After years of unsuitable and hand-me-down digs, it was a pleasure to have complete control of my environment.”

Harry laughed and followed Snape into the kitchen.  On the granite counter was  a pair of wine glasses and next to them, two plates. Nothing else was visible and certainly, nothing was out of place. In the dining area off the kitchen the table was set, candles lit, wooden salad bowl filled with greens.

“The red has been aerated and I’ve just opened the white; which will you have? I should tell you, the red is better.”

“Oh, then, I’ll have that,” Harry said.  He was tremendously excited to be in Snape’s home.  It was like a dream to have been invited, and here they were, drinking red wine together.

He hadn’t eaten much that day and the wine gave him a relaxed, freewheeling feeling as they stood in the kitchen.  Snape set out a small bowl of crunchy rice crackers, which they nibbled as he put the last touches on dinner.

“Severus Albus did very well last semester,” Harry said.

“Of course,“ Snape said with a smirk, deftly arranging a lamb chop and a sprig of parsley.

“You can cook,” Harry said.

“I can do practically anything,” Snape said. This made Harry a bit sad.  The apartment was so big and so extremely bare and clean, and Snape could do anything, but for whom?

They took their plates out to the table.  Snape stopped at the bookshelf and pressed a few buttons and some nice classical music - cello, he heard - floated into the air.

“I suppose you know all about stereos, too,” Harry said.  

“I taught myself.  This is actually a vinyl record on a turntable.  I prefer it to digital”  

“And have you really read all those books?”  

Snape looked at him, deadpan.

“Potter.  Ever the intellectual. Yes, I have read those books and a few more beside.  And have you read a book, since you left school?”

“Are we counting Quidditch magazines?”

“No, but I will spot you one Quidditch book.”

“All right then!  I have read a book.  And Ginny read me a book about pregnancy when we were expecting James, shall we count that?”

“No.  You have to hold the book yourself for it to count.” There was a tiny smile on Snape’s face, which Harry had put there by making fun of himself.  

He grinned and held out his glass.

He bragged a little more about Severus Albus - rather, Albus Severus - and told about his very ordinary job at the Ministry.  Snape tactfully ignored that the job described did not involve investigating foreign real estate.

Snape, for his part, let Harry question him about the workings of a theme park, and how he had inveigled a role in its design.  Harry would have been happy to hear Snape talk about doing laundry or his taxes or the most boring book on the miles of shelves; he could have sat and listened to Snape all night.

The chops were consumed and they had put their plates in the kitchen.

“I’m not a big fan of sweets myself,” said Snape, “but if you’d like, there’s a box of chocolate mints I can open for you.”

“No, no, that was wonderful.  I’m stuffed.  But - can we go sit in your nice living room?” It was almost ten o’clock, and surely Snape had to go to work tomorrow, but he wanted just a few more minutes to take home with him.

Snape fussed with the music again, putting away an old LP and replacing it with another.  What proceeded from this operation was a kind of tidy, mathematical, old-fashioned music that Harry thought of as “clavicle” but he suspected that this was not the correct name.

Snape settled himself into a black leather chair with a chrome frame, then surprised Harry by slipping off his shoes and tucking his legs alongside him.  Harry sat on the couch.

“What are you smirking at?” Snape asked.

“Not smirking - smiling.  It’s the way you are sitting.  You look so comfortable.”

“It’s my house.”

“I know.  It’s just - you never looked comfortable before.  When I knew you before.”

Their eyes caught on each other and held.  Harry smiled nervously.  Snape scowled.

“Tell me,” Snape said caustically, “are you happy with your little wife and family?”

“Of, of course. Ginny’s wonderful, the kids are healthy and happy. Why?”

“Because you are eyeing me like a dog with a steak, and if you came all this way for a walk on the wild side, I’m afraid I must disappoint you.”

Harry stared in shock.  It was absolutely true. _That_ was the feeling, why hadn’t he seen it? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d wanted a man, or followed the desire, but he’d put that aside when he married Ginny.  Everyone put their desires aside when they chose; that was the way it worked.  But suddenly the price seemed high.

The silence spun out as Harry stared at Snape’s hands, folded on his knee.  Beautiful hands, still.  

It seemed he only ever had the one card to play with Snape, so he did.

“You’re right,” he said. “That is what I want.  I just saw it when you said.  Not to walk on the wild side, but yes - it’s you.”

In a flash, Snape was up and standing over him.  He took Harry’s chin in his hand, tipping his face up sharply.  

“Hadn’t enough time with Daddy, then?” he said cruelly. “Looking for a new dad to grow you up?”

“I don’t know,” Harry answered.  “I can’t tell you why.  Maybe I love you.”

“You love me?  You’ve only just met me.  You might be infatuated with some child’s-eye view of me, but that’s all.”  Yet he stood very close with Harry’s chin in his hand.

Keeping his eyes on Snape, Harry rose and, very slowly so as not to frighten him, brought his hands up to Snape's face, drew him forward and kissed him lightly.  The cruel hand dropped to Harry’s side, and then his back, and with a groan they fell into each other’s arms.

Breathing deeply, almost afraid, Harry tipped his head back and let Snape explore his mouth.  He opened Harry’s lips with his own, thrusting his tongue inside with a proprietary air. On meeting no resistance, he slowed, kissing him more patiently, methodically, as if gathering data.  Harry moaned and cupped Snape’s head, pressing the length of his body against him and feeling an answering shudder in Snape’s frame.

Harry’s soft lips roamed over Snape's thinner, harder ones, nipping and tasting.  “I do, I do,” he murmured. The cold hands yanked his shirt up to find the warm flesh beneath and Harry gasped.  Snape's nose tucked in behind his ear to smell him as Harry licked the smooth neck above the shirt collar.  In his arms, Severus was tall, but so narrow; Harry’s splayed hands almost covered his back.  As if trying to get inside, they grappled at each other’s bodies, yanking, pressing and kneading.  They found each other’s mouths again and almost bit each other in a passion.

Harry sat, tumbling Severus beneath him on the couch.

“Don’t think -” Severus began.

“Shut up,” said Harry, climbing on top of him. “For once, shut up.” He emphasized these words by grinding his hips into Severus and working his hands under his bum.  This was effective, for the feeling of cock pressed to cock at once reduced Snape to a series of barely suppressed sobs.  Buttons flew as Harry yanked at the shirt and fastened his mouth to one small, furled nipple.  With a gasp, Severus pressed his chest upward for more attention.  

“Mm?” Harry said.

“Yes. _Yes._ ”  Scrabbling at Harry’s shirt.  Still clothed, Harry humped against him, one leg between his two, using his hip to rub Snape through his pants.  Left off Snape's nipples long enough to pull his own shirt over his head then laid himself down again, skin to skin, so hot, feeling Snape's cool hands against his back, pulling him close. Lightly biting the hard nipples to feel Severus jerk all over and toss his head back with a cry.

The cool hands slipped into the back of his pants, caressing and kneading his ass.  Oh God, it was _Snape_ doing that and now reaching around and struggling with the zip.  Harry lifted himself up to help, hanging his head to watch as Snape freed his cock and stroked it with his long, white hand.  Gasping, he thrust a few times, gaining momentum -

“Wait,” he whispered.  “Not yet.”

He took Snape's hand and kissed it.  Backed up and started again, lip to lip, propped on his elbows, rubbing his nose against that fantastic, big nose before him.  Snape writhed continuously, as if he couldn’t get enough friction, fast enough, all over.  It occurred to Harry distantly that he might have more sexual experience than the man beneath him, or more recent experience. He rolled his hips over the hardness and Snape gasped.

Putting his weight on one elbow, he laid his hand over Snape's cock, feeling it through the fabric.  Rubbed one knuckle down the length.

“Go on.”  Snape said with his eyes closed.

“Look at me.”

They came open slowly.  Brown eyes to black eyes, joined that way, while Harry unzipped and touched him, at first with just his fingertips, then taking the whole shaft in his hand, playing lightly up and down while Snape's breath caught and gasped and stuttered.  Harry held him tightly leg-over-leg while he played, and held him with his eyes as well.  He went on like this for a long time, cupping or clasping his balls, circling the head, varying the pressure or the tempo.

When Snape began to whimper, legs quivering, Harry tightened his grip and began to speed up.

“No - together -” Snape gasped, fumbling for Harry’s cock.  His hand closed around it, warm now, and it was all one thing, thrusting faster and stroking and Harry’s face tucked against Snape’s neck as he barreled toward ecstasy Oh GOD thrusting harder and felt the pulses in Snape’s cock and the cry as Snape arched and came all over his hand and Harry followed in hot splashes against Snape’s stomach.  

Then quiet.

“Oh. Oh,” Harry said softly, his head still tucked into the crook of Snape’s neck, his softening cock lying in a puddle of spunk on Snape’s belly.  “Thank you.”

No answer.  Snape shook his head a fraction. Harry inched his hand up to stroke his thumb over Snape’s cheek.  In a few minutes - when the spunk was really cold - Snape wiggled out from under him and took off for the bath without meeting his eyes.

Harry cleaned up a little and washed his hands in the granite sink in the kitchen.  When Snape returned, Harry tried to take him in his arms.  Snape sidestepped him in the kitchen door.

“I suppose you are all done now,” he said coldly.

“No. No, not at all. What are you even saying?” Harry answered.  “I’m - I’m in love with you, can’t you see it?”

“I see that you are infatuated and that you think you are in love.  I don’t happen to agree with your assessment, and if you will go back to your rose-covered cottage and the bosom of your family, I think you will soon realize that lust and curiosity have been satisfied.  Please accept my permission - in fact, accept my felicitations upon your happy return to normal life.  When you recognize the truth, don’t feel you need to inform me.  I won’t be expecting it.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Severus.  That’s not what happened here.”

“I’m afraid I disagree.  Now get - It’s time for you to go.”  Snape stood up and went to the door, hand upon the knob.

Harry didn’t know what else to do.  

“I’m not done, you know,” he said, as the door closed behind him.

This time when he went home, he had to tell Ginny.  He loved her, that was the thing.  She was the dream of his youth, and if he had been capable of seeing his way clear through the next several decades without going mad, he would have liked to make her happy. She wept every day. She used words like “betrayal” and “deceit.” He did his best to stay honest, not to excuse himself or accuse her, and, truly, there was nothing to accuse her of.  She had brought her entire self to him and it was a fault in him that he could not be satisfied.

He moved in with Ron and Hermione, and then into a place of his own.  Loyalty to his sister and his friend tore Ron apart and Harry thought their friendship might be over.

The children were furious.  James refused to speak to him, while Albus shouted angrily, his face red and tear-stained.  Lily was quietly heartbroken.  He told them he had fallen in love with someone else, a man.

“Why can’t you just get over him, Dad?” Lily asked.  “Just pretend that he’s not interested or that you broke up.”  This attempt to encompass and ameliorate their disaster in thirteen-year-old terms made Harry fear that he had damaged her beyond repair.

He did not communicate with Snape.  What he had done to his family was almost too terrible to bear and he could not stand to be rejected on the other side as well.  At night he took the Mickey snow globe from his bare mantel and shook it, watching through the swirling snow as if he could see into a future he could live with.  

Summer came.  He spent a lot of time at the Ministry, taking on projects to fill up his time.  Ron called him and asked, “Look, if you haven’t seen the guy, why can’t you just go back to Ginny? You can work through this.”  He couldn’t say why.  Lily called and they had a strained lunch together, but he could see her trying to forgive him.

And then fall, and winter, and it had been ten months since Florida.  He thought about Snape every day.  Maybe it wasn’t really Snape; maybe he was just too damaged to be happy with any reasonable life.  Yet it felt as if every single thing he did was part of a conversation, was saying to a listener, “I want you to know - I want you to know -”

At Christmas the children came to his apartment.  They came with a wreath and some gifts and some shakily maintained good cheer.  Harry was determined not to be a sad sack and cooked a dinner, but not a Christmas dinner.  He made lasagna and let them all have a glass of wine and they played word games and talked about the future.  When they left he hugged each one of them, and after the door closed, he wept.

And after Christmas was over, he dug through the boxes he had never unpacked and found the cloth bag with his invisibility cloak inside.  It wasn’t in the best of condition - it had spots of visibility - but it would do for the purpose.  He put in for leave from work. He packed a bag of shorts and tee shirts and the snow globe.  He brought the things he would need for a long siege.  

At 1699 Palmetto, people came and went in the afternoon, walking their dogs or shopping.  It wasn’t hard to get through the front doors and past the concierge.  He didn’t try to slip into the elevator, but walked up the twelve flights.  It took him fifteen minutes to get his breath on the landing.

He was sitting invisibly next to the apartment door when Snape got off the elevator, fingers laced through the handle of a small plastic bag, face unguarded and unhappy.  He traversed the hall with his eyes down until he froze and jerked his head back.

“I can see you there, you know,” he said.

“Please let me in,” said Harry.  

“You are trespassing,” Snape said.  “You are here illegally.”

“I need to talk you,” said Harry.  “Just let me talk to you.”

“We have nothing to say to each other.”

“I’ve left Ginny.  Severus, I broke up my marriage.  No rose-covered cottage, no happy normal life, no realization.  Except that - that - just let me be with you.”

Snape stood for a long moment.  He seemed to have forgotten what he meant to do, looking at Harry.  Harry came out from under the cloak and slowly stood up, back against the wall.  

“Just let me,” he said quietly.

Snape fumbled in his pocket for a moment and brought out the key.  He handed it to Harry, and they went inside.

~oo00oo~

Severus threw off the blanket and stood, grumbling sleepily about being harassed.  He put his feet down carefully, mindful of the arthritis.

“Come on, then, I’m making tea,” Harry smiled.

“All right, that’s better.”  He straightened his glasses and carefully marked the page in his book.  “How was the market?”

“Fine.  Saw all the neighbors and Owled your parcel.”

“You insured it?” Severus asked suspiciously.  He never liked to let any aspect of his select potions business out of his hands.

“I insured it, sweet darling.”  

Severus snorted at the endearment, but let Harry kiss him - in fact, leaned into the kiss with a possessive hand on Harry’s neck.

“Severus, you’re up,” said Lily, entering from the first floor bedroom.  “When Albus and Iain and the kids get here, will you take us to the Wonderful Wizarding World of Grandpa?”

“No, I certainly will not.  I am retired and I have no desire to revisit my former haunts.  What is more, the attraction is poorly maintained and to see my ideas so sadly decayed would only annoy me.”

“Oh, come on, Severus,” she said, slinging a womanly arm around his neck.  “Iain likes it so much more when you explain how you did everything.  The next time you see us will be at Molly’s graduation, with Mom and Thom.”

“Don’t talk to me now.  I’ll consider it.  And why are you so sure we will apparate all the way to Hogwarts for a graduation ceremony?  I, for one, have had my fill of those for a lifetime.”

Lily leaned forward and whispered in his ear.  Harry reflected that Lily, of all his children, had the surest touch with Severus, or perhaps it was that Severus was more inclined toward her, with her abundant red hair and green eyes. Among all the distortions he had wrought as the curse came to fruition, he had changed neither himself nor Harry’s mother; perhaps he needed to allow them to live on, together in imagination if not in reality.

Whatever she said caused Severus to laugh low and privately, and Harry thought he gave Lily’s arm a squeeze as he removed it from his shoulders.

Then the whistle of the kettle blew, and they went into the kitchen together for tea.


End file.
